


Won't

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 11:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13234596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis’ restraints are taking their toll, but Ignis can’t give in.





	Won't

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Noctis never really pays attention during council meetings no matter how important they are, and though he can occasionally fool his father and the other appointed leaders, he can never fool Ignis. Ignis knows him far too well. And Ignis can tell that today it isn’t just that—it’s _more_ —because the way Noctis’ eyes keep losing focus, the way his posture seems to melt, the way his hands clutch at the table are all too much. Ignis gives it rapt attention, only just taking in the important information being discussed. It’s _all_ important. But Noctis is his first priority, and he knows when something’s _wrong_.

He’s relieved when Noctis finally clears his throat. All eyes fall to him, King Regis frowning in thinly veiled disapproval. Ignis bites his tongue and doesn’t state the obvious: this goes beyond Noctis’ usually disinterest.

Noctis, gaze lowered, tells the room, “I have a headache—I need to step out for a moment.” It’s telling that he doesn’t just get up and do it. He doesn’t look at his father either, just waits.

Regis’ stare only softens a fraction. He decrees, “Very well, but please return as soon as you are able. The strategies we discuss here are paramount.”

Noctis barely nods. He pushes away from the table and rises, pausing only once to glance sideways at Ignis. Ignis turns to his king, silently seeking permission, and Regis merely nods. Ignis rises too, bows, and follows his prince.

Their footsteps echo loudly across the hall as they retreat through the nearest door, out into the side corridor, currently empty, though guards are never far. As soon as Noctis is out of sight of the others, all the tension dissipates from his stiff shoulders. He lets out a shiver and turns, waiting as Ignis comes to him. Ignis stops less than an arm’s length away, because he has a feeling this is going to be something Noctis will want done quietly. 

But Noctis doesn’t say anything, and Ignis has to ask first, “What’s wrong?”

Noctis stares ahead, fixed somewhere on Ignis’ chest, and seems to struggle for the right words. Finally, he grunts, “Nothing.”

Not only is it a lie, but it’s a foolish one, given what just happened. Ignis half expects Noctis to elaborate, to say he was just bored of the meeting. But after a few minutes of heavy silence, Noctis shakes his head and begrudgingly admits, “Alright, I’m... dizzy.” He practically spits it out, arms crossing and gaze shifting away. That one word is enough to tell the entire story.

Ignis gently responds, “It isn’t healthy to take suppressants forever.” Noctis actually winces. “Eventually, their effects will diminish, and your heats will occur again...”

“I’m not getting a heat,” Noctis hisses, though his cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink and his eyes are too black. Even through all the chemicals Noctis is fed and bathed with, Ignis can still smell his subtle undercurrent, always there in Ignis’ peripherals. Sometimes when Ignis gets home, he still can’t scrub Noctis off his skin.

He never really wants to. He knows he has to. He meets Noctis with a steady stare, until Noctis’ hard shell splinters, and he admits, almost vulnerable, “I just... I need a little something to get me through...”

Again, Ignis says nothing, even though his body feels like it’s overreacting all around him. Noctis’ gaze falls to Ignis’ mouth. Noctis adds, somewhere right between an order and a whisper, “Kiss me.”

Ignis’ throat seems to dry. Somehow, he hadn’t expected that. “That... is not a good idea...”

“Why?” Noctis squints, a near-growl in his throat again, one borne more of an omega’s ripe instincts than Noctis’ usual stubbornness. “I see the way you look at me; it’s obvious... and we’re an alpha and omega—why shouldn’t we? I can... smell you...” His dilated eyes suddenly flicker down, trailing the lean line of Ignis’ body, and Ignis’ tongue sticks to his throat. His entire life is an exercise in controlling himself, his own base instincts, around his handsome prince. He even wears blockers for it. But Noctis has always been particularly strong, and it wouldn’t surprise Ignis to learn he could smell right through them.

Ignis still forces out, “The crown is trying to present you as an alpha. Even if I disagree with the deception, I’m your _advisor_ , and I have a duty to you, to your father. I cannot defy the king by... canoodling... with his son...”

Noctis takes a step closer, even though there’s hardly any room for it, and it makes his shoes tuck between Ignis’, their noses almost touching. Eyes still glued to Ignis’ lips, Noctis mutters, “Please.” It’s a rare word for him, and that makes it all the more poignant.

Ignis still resists. He holds himself back, tense and taut, wishing he had the self-control to step away. The best he can do is a standstill. Then Noct murmurs, “I thought you cared for me more than that.”

Ignis knows that Noctis will never understand just how deeply Ignis does care for him. He still does nothing, until he sees a shiver rack Noctis’ entire body and the desperate plea in Noctis’ eyes. Ignis has always found it enormously difficult to deny Noctis anything, even when he knows it’s wrong.

Noctis tilts his head, wanting and waiting, and Ignis lifts a hand to cup his cheek, softly thumbs his warm skin, and moves forward. When their mouths come together, Noctis chokes out a needy moan that goes straight to Ignis’ crotch. He meant to just be chaste, quick—just a tiny _something_ to soothe Noctis’ urges. But he _wants_ Noctis too much for that, and he lets his tongue swipe across Noctis’ lips, until Noctis eagerly opens up. Then Ignis is diving right inside, pressing forward, and Noctis surges into him with a ferocity befitting any alpha. 

They share a string of deep, shame-filled kisses, all of which leave Ignis thrumming with _want_ —what he wouldn’t give to _claim_ Noctis for his own, to always be by Noctis’ side, to protect him from all harm and his own heats—Ignis would be so _careful_ , would _take care of him_ , and ensure his every happiness. But all of that will have to be done from a distance, because Noctis is meant for other things—for a political marriage with another omega that he won’t satisfy and won’t get satisfaction from in return. It breaks Ignis’ heart every time he thinks of it.

When he finally forces himself to pull away, Noctis looks both betrayed and angry, and he tries to come forward again, reaching out like Ignis’ selfish fantasies are the reality he wants. 

Ignis steps further back and pushes his glasses up his nose—Noctis knocked them askew. Noctis stands there, breathing hard and full of clear frustration. Ignis waits until that settles. Noctis looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t.

So they return in silence to the meeting, where Ignis can resume his vigilant support, and Noctis’ hand finds his beneath the table.


End file.
